


eternity was in our lips and eyes

by thecactusqueen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:24:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecactusqueen/pseuds/thecactusqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He is no Brandon</i>, Cat thinks, <i>but he’ll do</i>.<br/></p><p>
Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully - from the day they wed to the day he died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	eternity was in our lips and eyes

_He is no Brandon_ , Cat thinks, _but he’ll do_.

There have always been moments between them, moments when she thinks the world has stopped and she is drowning in the grey of his eyes. Sometimes she is not sure if it is his _eyes_ and not the grey of the direwolf that floats above the castle. Yet always, she knows there is something about Ned Stark that draws her in.

The day of their wedding she had looked upon him and felt fear, apprehension, and her days as a maiden slipping away. He had smiled at her – a kind smile, a Stark smile. And she had smiled at her father first, and then at him. That was the first time.

*

The second came when he returned from Storm’s End. Glad and victorious, she had seen him through the window in the lord’s solar as he rode in with proud Jory Cassel by his side. She watched him dismount and she watched the painted direwolf on his chest ripple as he moved. She did not see the child, lifted from a saddle by Ser Desmond Grell, who was set by Ned’s feet and who wrapped his tiny arms around her husband’s leg. It was not until she had her own arms spread to greet Ned that she noticed the boy had hair the colour of night and eyes like a storm.

He resembled Ned the same way Robb’s blue eyes and auburn hair resembled hers.

Cat had not been prepared to deal with something like this, and so she had raised her eyes to Ned’s guilty ones and welcomed him home, had welcomed him back to her.

The insult to House Tully did not pass unnoticed but for the sake of peace and in honour of the new King, it was overlooked. Cat has always been grateful for that. At the time, she was anything but amiable towards Ned’s bastard. But she was Lady Stark, and Lady Stark knew better than to divulge the matters of her heart before her father’s lord bannermen.

It was only later, after the feasting and the dancing and the laughing that Robb fell asleep, the boy Snow was taken by a nursemaid, and Cat could speak freely. She asked him why, and he did not answer. She asked him when, and he did not answer. She asked him who, and he did not answer. In the years to come, she would learn those were the only three questions in all of Westeros her Ned would never answer for her.

Her anger and her jealousy and Ned’s betrayal did not melt away when her husband looked at her, and the bastard Snow did not become a dream when he traced the outline of her lips with his own, but in that moment, she knew this was the first and last time. And she was comforted.                                             

*

It was almost fourteen years later and she sat too close to Cersei Lannister for her liking. The Kingslayer was sharing a joke with his brother, and Cat wondered, not for the first time, if anything would have changed had he married Lysa. The King looked out of place at her table, yet he did not seem to notice as his drunken laughter mingled with the musicality of Jaime Lannister’s chuckles.  Ned was unhappy and she did not yet know why; it frustrated her.

She longed for the feel of his fingers entangled with her own, and cursed the King for his visit. She had not spoken with Ned since Robert had ridden through the gates of Winterfell, flanked by his Kingsguard. And there was so much to tell – the way Sansa had blushed when Joffrey took her hand; the smile Bran gave Tommen as he knocked his wooden sword out of his hand when they played at knights before the feast; the way Robb had looked regal and princely as he escorted the Princess Myrcella through the doors. In another time, Robb could have been a prince.

They could not speak yet, but Cat caught Ned’s eye and raised her fingers to her lips, kissed them, and lightly extended her hand towards her husband. A smile graced his face then. It was not much, but it was enough.

It was not until the guests had eaten their fill and the royal family had retired to their rooms that Cat was able to give Ned a real kiss. She felt him smile, a true smile, a Stark smile, and for those few precious moments, she knew everything would work itself out.

That was before the news of Arryn’s death, it was before Bran’s fall, and it was before Cat’s heart broke. It was before everything, and in the time between kisses and misery, Cat could look at Ned and feel safe in his arms.

*

It is always dark. He tries to open his eyes, perhaps he even manages it, but it is always dark. After a time, he can distinguish between the darkness of his dreams and the darkness around him. The latter is stifling, and feels like a hand across his mouth, crawling with spiders, crushing and suffocating. His dreams are no better. He can see in those, but that does not mean they bring him light. It was Arya he saw last night. Arya, with her tiny sword and her boy’s armour. Arya, lost and too stubborn to be found. Arya, just Arya. He wept for her.

Varys visited him this morning. One more spider to add to the rest. He only knew it was morning because Varys told him it was. This dependence on others, however small, is a knife in Ned’s honour. Varys gave him the opportunity to join the Night’s Watch. He even used Jon Snow to argue his case. Ned hated him for that. In the end, it was Sansa who chose for him, as she had once chosen the doublet he wore to the first day of the Hand’s Tourney. For Sansa, he gave up the city and justice. He does not regret it.

It is cold and dark and he does not know how far below the ground he is, only that he sometimes feels safer down here, crouched in a corner as if prepared to attack an oncoming foe, than he ever did in the Red Keep. It is a cruel, bitter irony and if Ned could find the strength to fill his lungs, he would laugh if only to hear a human laugh here in the pits of his hell.

Sleep does not come easy. Benjen will be waiting for him, and Jon, and he does not have to be alone on the Wall, it does not matter. He tries and tries again to convince himself he will not be entirely useless outside of the homely comforts he has come to expect. He will not become a shell of Lord Stark. He will remain Ned.

It is not easy, but he is able to summon sleep and ignore his fate for a few more precious hours.

And then Cat is there, and she is reaching for him and her hair falls around her shoulders. He does not understand why she is here but she lays her hand on his rough cheek and smiles a sad smile. A Stark smile.

He tries to put his own hand over hers, yet his fingers find only emptiness before they fall onto the stubble of his face. He can still feel her touch. She is still with him. The air around her tingles with light and he almost thinks there are whispers around them, murmuring and laughing and sighing.

They exchange no words. No prayers, no warnings, no goodbyes. They simply look into each other’s eyes. The grey of the wolf meets the blue of the river. They are one as they never were before.

Then she is gone, and Ned awakes as the guards open his prison door, the rattle of their keys a hollow sound. It is the knell that marks his fate.

*

In a tent across Westeros, Cat cannot shake the image of the cell. She tells herself it was a dream, but she had felt his skin under hers and it had been like the touch of fire. She had felt him, and in that lonely winding darkness, she had looked upon him for the last time.


End file.
